


Incident of the Philologist

by mcicioni



Category: Rawhide - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 19:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10951290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcicioni/pseuds/mcicioni
Summary: Favor and Rowdy attend Gillian's high school graduation ceremony. Conflicts ensue.





	Incident of the Philologist

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This takes place about one year after the episodes "Incident of the Fish Out of Water" and "The Boss's Daughters". It was written about 20 years ago, when I was much more inclined to report the pov character's thoughts.  
> 2\. Dr McRae is not a Mary Sue: she does not fall in love with anyone, save anyone's life, sort any conflicts out, or outstay her welcome. The only thing she and I have in common is a degree in linguistics.

_They say a drover's life is like a sailor's: always on the move. And as soon as a drive's over, you're chasin' round to pick up another herd. No wonder most drovers ain't family men. Those of us who got kin, we're lucky if we get to see them three, four times a year. And when we do, we usually find that there's been changes. Not all of them to our likin'. I'm Gil Favor, trail boss._

The herd was grazing peacefully, the four men on guard during noon camp circling it slowly, the July sun creating ripples in the air, the leaves of the trees above the two wagons barely moving in the merest hint of a breeze.

Gil Favor, sipping coffee on an overturned crate, tried to put off the moment when he'd have to get up and prod his men back to work. _Drive's almost over,_ he mused, eyes tracing the outline of the rugged hills ahead. _Supposin' nothin' goes wrong, we'll cross the hills tomorrow and make Sedalia in two days, three at the outside._ He took another sip. _There'll be time to travel back south and pick up another herd, the last drive of the year._

He glanced at the chuckwagon, where Mushy was busily scrubbing plates and Wishbone and Rowdy, beside it, were engrossed in a checkers game. From the way Rowdy was biting his lips and running a hand through his hair, there could be no doubt as to the progress of the game and to its outcome. Favor shook his head, looking away. Something had changed between him and his ramrod during that drive. A couple of times, when they'd been away from the herd and the men, they'd shared a bedroll. After a disagreement had been settled – some argument about Rowdy's insubordination or Favor's discipline – desire had flared up spontaneously and had been satisfied almost wordlessly, with no further mention. Don't know why I let it happen, the trail boss wondered. _Last thing I needed was to get mixed up with someone who works for me._

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, glanced at Rowdy again, and saw him get up from the checkers board and walk away in disgust. _Wonder what was in it for him. He enjoyed himself, I guess._ His eyes softened for a second. However short, their encounters had been different from the previous casual embraces of saloon girls: there had been companionship, and they had been able to look at each other afterwards. _It don't have to mean anythin'. I got plenty of things to worry about anyways. Getting' to Sedalia, then seein' my girls in Philadelphia._ He explored the inside of a cheek with his tongue. _And the next drive?_ Would Rowdy still want to ride with the Favor outfit, or would he start looking for a herd of his own? He shrugged. _Up to him. The next drive'll look after itself, with or without Rowdy._ He'd been saying that to himself whenever things were quiet, the herd walking and not running, the men doing their job without complaining overmuch or getting in the way of horns or hooves or arrows or bullets. He sighed, stood up, stretched, went to the fire and poured himself another cup of coffee.

Joe Scarlet galloped into camp, jumped off his horse, handed the reins to Jesús and waved a fistful of letters in the air. "Here's the mail, boys. Not a lot of it this time." He handed the first envelope to Jim Quince, who took it gingerly, with two fingers. "My niece," he grumbled. "If she got herself in any more trouble, I dunno …" The rest of his words were lost as he wandered off towards the open space between the camp and the herd.

"One for you, G. W. Wishbone," Joe announced solemnly, sniffing the envelope theatrically. "Bet anyone two dollars it's the widow who owns the café." He waited until he saw Wishbone's self-satisfied smile as he looked at the handwriting. "Bet five dollars. No, I meant ten." He glanced round, saw he had no takers, and looked at the last envelope. "This one's for you, boss."

Favor put his cup down, took the letter and walked away, with a quick glance at Rowdy, sprawled under a tree, who was absently fiddling with the bullets in his gunbelt. He leaned against the chuckwagon and scanned the sheet.

"Bad news?" Wishbone was standing beside him, concern in his whiskered face.

"No, not a bit. It's from my sister-in-law." He gave the cook a small reassuring smile. "She knows the drive's almost over, and has sent me an invitation to 'attend the prize-giving ceremony at Miss Hartford's Girls' Academy'. In Philadelphia. In a week's time." He lit a cheroot, drew deeply on it. "The girls'd like that, I guess. Haven't seen them since early spring."

"How old are they now?"

"Maggie turned twelve in May, and Gillian …" A brief silence. "She's almost seventeen." He sighed heavily. "They're growin' up without me, Wish. At times I get the feelin' I ain't never goin' to get to know them."

"Yeah, well." The cook looked him up and down, stroking his salt-and-pepper whiskers. "As you're always tellin' us, there's only one way to find out." A pause. "You takin' Rowdy along?"

"Rowdy?" Favor raised both eyebrows. "To Philadelphia? He wouldn't be caught dead there."

"You might try askin' him." The older man looked at Favor intently, eyes warm with amused affection.

"He wouldn't know how to behave in polite society," the trail boss scoffed.

"He would if you kept an eye on him," Wishbone countered. "And you never know when you could use some backup. If I remember right, the last time you were there …"

"All right, all right," Favor cut in. He threw his cheroot down, ground it into the earth, slowly walked back to the tree and gently stirred his brooding ramrod with a boot toe.

"I got to be in Philadelphia in six days' time. Prizegivin' at my girls' school." He pushed his hat back, wiped his forehead, thought aloud slowly. "If we move fast, we'll make the railhead early the day after tomorrow. Then I could get the sale over with by nightfall, get on the night train, go to the prizegivin' and see you back in Sedalia …" He stopped, looked at the way Rowdy was staring at the progress of a column of ants between the roots of the tree, and took a deep breath. "Or we could try to speed the sale up, take the afternoon train, go to Philadelphia, and then we could travel back south to get a crew together for the last drive this year."

He frowned as Rowdy looked up at him, face instantly lighting up, and spoke sternly. "You don't behave yourself at Eleanor's place, the Lord help you." He hesitated for a moment, looking down at the ants with envy. _They_ didn't need words. He lowered his voice. "Eleanor's house is beautiful, but it's kinda small. Only three bedrooms, one for her, one for the girls, and one for guests," he said flatly. He let out a tiny breath as Rowdy's cheeks turned pink under the dust and suntan, and strode towards his horse. "Right, that's settled. Let's get movin', we got a herd to push to the railhead."

* * * * * *

 

"What a pity you couldn't get here any earlier," Eleanor Bradley gently scolded her brother-in-law as her buggy entered the garden of Miss Hartford's Girls' Academy.

"We were lucky to get here this mornin'," he replied as he and Rowdy climbed out. "The sale of the herd took longer than I expected. We had to spend four nights on trains. But we made it – and with time to spare to get presentable," he concluded, glad to see her face lighten.

"Hope you won't be _too_ bored, Daddy." Maggie lifted up her skirt and vaulted down off the buggy, then looked up at her father to see how he had appreciated her display of skill.

"Bored? I've been lookin' forward to this for days." Her father ruffled her tousled blond curls and gave her a quick hug. "But you mind your manners, hear? There's a time and a place for bein' a tomboy, and this ain't it."

"This _isn't_ it, Father." Gillian's round face was serious, her long-lashed green eyes anxious as she smoothed a crease in her sleeve.

"I must be on my best behavior too, hmm?" Favor smiled at his elder daughter and stroked her smooth cheek. "All right, honey, I won't disgrace you on your big day. And neither will Rowdy," he added meaningfully, looking his ramrod up and down. "Of all the clumsy … Can't you even tie a necktie?" With an annoyed grimace, he undid and retied the loose, crooked bow of Rowdy's black string tie, gave him a small push in the direction of the door of the Academy, and turned to help his sister-in-law from the buggy.

"Don't worry, Gil," she whispered as they moved together through the crowd of girls in pastel frocks and adults in dark suits and rustling silk dresses. "It'll only be a couple of hours – the guest of honor's speech, the prizegiving, and a small reception. The guest of honor's already here," she added, looking in the direction of a short bespectacled woman trying unsuccessfully to straighten the fashionable blue bonnet which she was obviously wearing for the occasion. "She's a woman college professor. I just hope she won't give these girls any silly ideas."

"Such as?"

"Oh, Gil, you know. About becoming professors too."

"And why shouldn't they, if they want to? And if they have the brains for it."

"Their marriage prospects," she said patiently. "I don't know about Texas, but I don't think many of the men we associate with here would want an over-educated wife."

Favor made a small noncommittal grunt. Then he saw that his sister-in-law's eyes were moving to the opposite side of the hall, towards the refreshment table. Gillian and Rowdy were standing close together, she talking earnestly, he looking down at her as he listened intently.

"Mr Yates …" Eleanor whispered. "A nice young man, but … why did you decide to bring him along?"

"He's my best friend," Favor replied at once. Then he added carefully, "Why'd you ask me that?"

"Gillian seems to be getting on really well with him." She fiddled with the clasp of her handbag. "Is this something we should encourage?"

"Encourage?" he repeated, nonplussed.

"She is so very young … And I can't deny that he _is_ personable. For a trail hand." Favor looked across, nodded casually. Eleanor went on doubtfully, "And I must admit that he can be quite charming …"

"If you say so," Favor acknowledged. "I shouldn't fret," he went on. "Gillian's got a good head on her shoulders. And Rowdy … He had a habit of fallin' for every girl he met, and they usually weren't right for him, one way or another, but he seems to have got over that. For the time bein', leastways." He stopped short, staring at the air before him. He looked across again. Rowdy glanced at him, caught his eye, flashed him a grin and a wink, and turned back to Gillian.

"Mr Favor, isn't it? Gillian and Margaret's father." Tall and dignified, Miss Hartford was standing in front of him. "I've been hoping to talk to you, to tell you how proud we are of Gillian. Margaret's delightful too of course, but she's still a little …"

"Wild," Eleanor completed ruefully.

"Young," Favor corrected firmly.

"You may have guessed who this year's best student is going to be." Miss Hartford steered the conversation back to the elder Favor girl. "Gillian's such a lovely young lady, so poised and polished, an example to the younger ones. And such a promising scholar. Serious, enthusiastic, just the right kind of enquiring mind. And what a gift for languages. Her French is almost perfect, and she's already fluent in German after studying it for only two years …" She smiled benevolently. "Did she get it from you, Mr Favor?"

"I can make myself understood in Spanish. If I have to."

"Oh." A brief silence, then Miss Hartford squared her shoulders and smiled brightly. "Let me introduce you to our guest of honor, Dr McRae … She is from the State University of Iowa, the first university to admit women to higher degrees. I hope that she will be an inspiration … Oh, good, I see that she's about to meet your partner."

Favor instantly glanced over to the refreshment table. Rowdy and Gillian had been joined by Maggie, and Rowdy was telling them some kind of story, his enthusiasm and their curiosity visible even from that distance. The woman in the blue bonnet approached them, with what looked like a genuinely friendly smile. Favor felt a tiny shiver of premonition run down his back. He quickly apologized to Eleanor and made his way across the hall to join the group.

"… and ol' Quince couldn't make no sense of it, the horse had been rode recent, but …"

"This is Dr Sarah McRae. She'll be handing out the prizes in a few minutes," Maggie said proudly. "And this is Rowdy Yates, my father's ramrod. That means second-in-command on a cattle drive," she explained with equal pride and satisfaction.

"Dr McRae." Rowdy held out a hand and shook the woman's energetically. "Real glad to meet you, ma'am. You're the second lady doctor I ever met. The first one was real good at fixin' busted ribs. She taught me a lesson all right – a woman can be as good as a man at whatever she wants to do." He paused, grinning. "Maybe even better."

"I'm not that kind of doctor," the woman said, her hazel eyes warm behind her gold-rimmed spectacles. "I'm a philologist, I study the way languages work. But please, Mr Yates, won't you just continue with the story you were telling these girls …?"

Rowdy's smile was slightly puzzled as he did a swift mental review of his tale to see if it was fit for a lady's ears. "It's just somethin' that happened on our last drive, ma'am. One of the boys found a stray horse which was full saddled, and …"

"And you said that it had been 'rode recent'. With an adjective used as an adverb, and a past participle …" Her hands rose and joined, fingers steepling.

As he approached, Favor saw Rowdy's eyes begin to narrow. He stepped between him and Dr McRae, gave Rowdy's shoulder a quick reassuring pat, and addressed the woman directly. "You got any … If you have any questions, ma'am, feel free to ask me. I'm these girls' father. And his trail boss."

"Could you say that again?" Dr McRae's voice brimmed with anticipation.

"My name's Gil Favor. I'm a trail boss."

"Oh, remarkable. It's practically a diphthong," she beamed up at him, clasping her hands in excitement. "Won't you please say 'office', Mr Favor? And 'coffee'?"

"What for?"

"The way Texans speak is such an unresearched field," she declared. "I had suspected that their vowels were broader …" She paused and looked up at him, undeterred by his frown. "You say something like _bawss_ and _fawr_ , you see." Her index finger waved in the air between them, sketching a protracted flow of something. "Now, if you also, as I believe, say _awffice_ and _cawffee_ …" she went on, in an amazingly accurate reproduction of his accent, her hands drawing more incomprehensible symbols. Gillian and Maggie started to giggle. Rowdy, no longer on the spot, grinned broadly. Favor's frown turned into a scowl. She gave him a blissful smile. "It would be an absolutely fascinating basis for a research question. I'd be so very grateful to you if …"

"Sorry, ma'am." Favor put his arms around his daughters' shoulders and started gently pushing them away. "Can't oblige. I came here to be with my girls, and have little enough time to spend with them as it is. Good luck with your research anyway."

As he and the girls went back to rejoin Eleanor, Favor looked back. Rowdy was once more engaged in cheerful conversation with Dr McRae, who was happily drawing lines and circles with both hands. Favor shook his head, tried to ignore any further misgivings, and followed his family to the seats in the auditorium.

 

* * * * * *

 

"Whatever you choose to do with your lives after you leave school, whether you become wives and mothers, or whether you choose a profession, language will be the central part of it." Dr McRae had been speaking for a couple of minutes. Sitting between his daughters, Favor couldn't help being captivated by the way she stood straight on the stage, one single sheet of notes in her hand, her voice vibrant with energy. 

"What we hear and speak _is_ our language, however much it may vary from place to place and from person to person." She leaned a little towards her audience, spreading her hands towards them. "Even when we speak the same language, the way we sound can tell our listeners where we are from. The sound /t/, for instance." She underlined it with a brief horizontal wave of her index finger. "In Boston, where I come from, we say _wa-ter_ ; in most of the United States, it sounds more like _wa-der_ ; in parts of England and Scotland, it sounds something like …" she made a curious hiccupping sound, " _wa' er_." Her audience laughed, spellbound. "And vowels … Listen to someone from West Texas. He'll say _bawss_ , _cawffee_ , _what fawr_. And we'll still be able to understand him."

Favor stiffened, eyes blazing. Maggie leaned against him, smiling in delighted recognition. Gillian moved a little away, her face colouring. On Gillian's other side, Rowdy cast Favor a single swift glance. Fired up at a new line of thought, Dr McRae discarded her sheet of notes and carried on ad lib. 

"And observing the way we use figures of speech is such an exciting way of learning about differences between cultures. In English we say _speak of the devil_ – Latin culture was more down to earth, they spoke about _the wolf in the tale_. What in English we call a _shotgun wedding_ , from the point of view of the unfortunate prospective bridegroom," Rowdy laughed out loud. Eleanor and Favor frowned at him, "in Italian is known as a _matrimonio riparatore_ , a marriage that repairs the family's shattered honor." Sly giggles from the older girls, a loud cough from Miss Hartford. "And while we in the East may say to someone _don't meddle in matters that do not concern you_ , in the South they may say _don't go dippin' your bread in another man's bacon grease_." 

Favor turned to look at Rowdy, a long, wordless glare. "Well, it's what you tell _me_ all the time, boss. I didn't think you'd mind my tellin' _her_ ," Rowdy whispered over Gillian's head. Then both men looked at the girl. Cheeks crimson, Gillian was staring down at her hands clenched in her lap. 

"All ways of speaking bear the endeavour of investigation and reward with understanding," Dr McRae said forcefully, coming to a conclusion. "Observing differences in language can help us understand how cultures differ and thus can help us communicate better with our fellow men. It is one of many ways in which we can make the world a little more open, a little bit better." She underscored the last sentence by closing her hands into fists and suddenly opening them, letting air flow through her splayed fingers. "And now you've heard enough from me. Let's hear about this year's prizewinners. First of all, this year's outstanding student: it is my great pleasure to announce that the Hartford medal for achievement in arts and languages has been awarded to Miss Gillian Favor." 

Gillian stood up among reverberating applause and walked a little unsteadily to the stage. Dr McRae handed her a small box and a rolled-up certificate, and spontaneously embraced her. As Gillian went back to sit beside her father, she gave him a small happy smile and a longer, hesitant look. He put an arm around her shoulder and held her close for a long moment. _My own girl. I'm so proud of her._ But as he mechanically applauded the other prizewinners, a sudden suspicion floated to the surface of his mind and quickly spread, like poison in a waterhole. _Does she want to be my own girl? What does she think about me?/_ He closed his eyes and shoved the thought back wherever it had come from, and concentrated on smiling and clapping until the end of the ceremony. Then, with determined good manners, he helped his sister-in-law to get up, and followed Rowdy and Maggie who were happily heading back towards the refreshment tables. 

* * * * * * * * 

The supper dishes had been cleared and they were all in the parlor of Eleanor's house, Eleanor and Favor sipping coffee on the sofa, Rowdy in a corner with Maggie, both trying to look inconspicuous while dipping into a barrel of cookies on a small corner table, and Gillian sitting very straight in an armchair, her eyes moving from her aunt to her father and then straying anxiously towards the ceiling. 

Suddenly she squared her shoulders, got up and went to stand in front of her father. 

"What's up?" 

"I have something to tell you and Aunt Eleanor. I want to go to college next year." She spoke quickly, suppressing an initial faint stammer. "I'd like to apply to the State University of Iowa. I may get a scholarship." 

"Are you sure it's wise, dear?" Eleanor put down her cup and saucer and looked at her brother-in-law for support. Favor turned towards her, gave her a small tight smile and a warning look, then turned back to his daughter. 

"I'm sure you'll get a scholarship, honey," he said with utter confidence. "And if you don't, I'll be happy to pay your way through college." He paused, grinned at her. "My daughter the schoolteacher." Gillian shook her head mutely. "Not a teacher? Fine with me. Lawyer, then. Railway engineer? Then _what_?" 

Gillian's lips trembled a little, but she kept her eyes fixed unflinchingly on her father's. "I want to be a philologist. Dr McRae spoke to me at the reception. She said my grades are good enough for the courses she teaches." 

"You what??" 

"You heard, Father. I have always loved languages, and I'm good at them. In college I'll have a chance to really learn how they work – to compare sounds, verb tenses, figures of speech. I can't wait." 

"You got to be jokin'." Favor put down his cup sharply, ignoring the stain of coffee spilling over the pristine cloth of the table. "You want to keep studyin', that's great. But go ahead and learn somethin' _useful_ , like law. Or medicine, you can be a real doctor. Or maybe," he added doubtfully, "science, or history, or even literature. Not sounds and _words_." 

"You listened to Dr McRae." Gillian's round face was pale, but her jaw was set. "Philology's not just words and sounds. It's the way you can learn about cultures from them. Better than from history or literature, because languages are living things." She paused. "You know." 

"No, I don't." Favor stood up and looked down at her, hardly aware that he was beginning to raise his voice. "I'd hoped any child of mine would have some sense. Wastin' years tryin' to find out the history of words. Studyin' _diphthongs_ , for cryin' out loud." 

"You're just mad because Dr McRae copied the way you speak," Maggie cut in, grinning. 

"You stay out of this," her father snapped. He turned back to his elder daughter. "And there's somethin' else, since we're at it. You used to be an outdoors girl, climbin' trees, runnin' all over the place. You used to gallop like the blazes, when I took you ridin'. What's gone wrong with you? You turnin' into some kind of teacher's pet?" His voice rose an octave, in a fair approximation of Miss Hartford's. " _Gillian's such a lovely young lady, poised and polished_. I wonder what's left of my girl." 

"Now, Gil. That's unfair." Eleanor went to stand by her niece, a protective arm on her shoulder. Favor felt his stomach tighten. _This is worse than facin' a bunch of rustlers._ He had to get hold of himself. And he found that he couldn't, his emotions running faster than a stampeding herd. 

"Unfair, is it? I saw what she looked like while that woman was quotin' my own words on that stage. My own daughter was _ashamed_ of what I am, what I do, what I sound like." 

Eleanor tightened her hold on Gillian's shoulders, as the girl bit her lip hard, her eyes beginning to brim. "You can't expect your daughters not to change. And is it their fault if they don't see enough of you to appreciate …" 

Guilt and resentment spread from the pit of Favor's stomach through his body. "I don't see enough of them because I work for them, to make their life easier than mine, to make sure they get a good education. And what do they want to do with it? _Research_ me and my friends, take notes every time we open our mouths." 

"Now hold on a minute, Mr. Favor." Rowdy jumped to his feet, knocking over the cookie barrel. "I ain't said nothin' so far, Gillian bein' your daughter and Miss Eleanor's niece, but …" 

"You stay out of this too," Favor ordered. He paused and breathed deeply. "Look, everybody. No point in goin' on with this discussion tonight. Let's turn in and sleep on it, and tomorrow mornin' Gillian'll have realized that what I said makes sense." 

"That'll be the day." Gillian wheeled around and walked out, her legs shaking but her head high. Favor chose to ignore the taunt and said nothing when Rowdy followed the girl into the corridor, took her arm and spoke to her, urgently and very softly. She looked up at him, listening without interrupting, shaping a questioning word or two with her lips as he came to an end of what he had to say. Rowdy nodded, stood aside to let her go upstairs to her room, and waited, hands thrust deeply into his pockets, for the others to come out of the parlor. 

* * * * * * * 

At the top of the stairs, Favor impatiently waved Rowdy into the guest bedroom, followed him in and closed the door, not exactly slamming it but with considerable firmness. 

"Stubborn little fool," he spat out, taking off his jacket. 

"Wonder where she gets it from," Rowdy said levelly as he pulled off his tie and let it fall to the floor. 

"Don't be funny. And pick that up," Favor snapped. "She's my daughter, and I want what's best for her." 

"And who _decides_ what's best for her?" Rowdy picked up his tie, threw it on a chair and faced Favor. "You just can't tell Gillian what to do with her life like you tell me and the boys how to push the steers on the trail." He paused, rubbed his chin. "If you wasn't so mad right now, you'd see that she loves you, she ain't a bit ashamed of you." 

Favor closed his eyes for a long moment, then reopened them. "Drop it, Rowdy," he ordered, lips compressed into a thin line. 

"No." The younger man held his boss's stare with tense determination. "On the trail, I'll shut up when you tell me to." He ignored Favor's derisive snort. "Now I'm goin' to have my say, and when I'm through you can send me back south or fire me, I don't care." 

"What the hell's this business with Gillian got to do with the job?" 

"You're apt not to want …" A brief pause, a shrug. "Look, I'm closer to Gillian's age, and I just know …" 

"Of course you do," Favor shot back, emptying his pockets and putting watch and coins on the dresser. "You just know that what she wants is to become a spittin' image of Dr McRae. Spendin' her life in libraries instead of doin' useful work. Writin' books about diphthongs and figures of speech." 

Rowdy clenched his fists. "And what if she does? It's her life, ain't it?" he blurted out. "There ain't no way kids ever end up doin' everythin' their folks want." He grinned at a sudden recollection. "When I was a kid, my Ma kept hopin' I'd be a preacher or a lawyer, because she said I never quit tryin' to talk people into things." 

"I noticed," Favor cut in drily, taking off his shoes and socks. 

"And when I told her I wanted to be a drover, first she wanted to take a stick to me, then she cried, then she gave me her blessin'." 

"Gillian can't know what she wants. She's only sixteen." 

"Right." Rowdy nodded, an unmistakable note of triumph in his voice. "And how old were _you_ when you ran away from home and started doin' what _you_ wanted?" 

Favor opened his mouth, then closed it. He stripped to his underwear, threw the bed covers aside, got in and lay on his back, glaring in silence as Rowdy, his spate of talk suddenly run dry, peeled off his clothes and stood in the middle of the room in his worn blue underpants, long sinewy arms hanging down his sides. 

"Well?" Favor said sharply after a while. "Ain't you goin' to turn out the light and get some sleep?" 

"I guess so." Rowdy ran a hand through his hair, looked at Favor and quickly looked away, his face colouring slightly. 

"What now?" 

"We through arguin'?" Rowdy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, turned and went to blow out the lamp. "This is the first time we've ever been …" he mumbled very softly. 

Favor stared at him. As the room went from soft light to semi-darkness, he looked at the broad shoulders on the rangy, still boyish body, the lean buttocks, the play of muscles in the long legs. _I ought to know what he looks like,_ he told himself impatiently. _But he's right, it's different here._ He was aware of an almost painful tightness in his loins, and was grateful for the darkness. "Yeah." He swallowed. "We're through arguin'. For tonight anyways." 

Rowdy lay down beside him and blissfully stretched out between the crisp sheets. "You ever goin' to tell me about yourself as a little kid?" he asked, wriggling his toes. 

"You ever goin' to shut up?" Favor turned on his side and faced him, appraising him with unsmiling eyes. 

Rowdy gave a soft snort of laughter, which faded into wide-eyed silence as Favor slowly ran the back of a blunt-tipped finger down his jawline. He turned and moved closer to Favor, pushing his warm hard flesh against the other man's thigh. 

"Please," he said urgently, almost a command. 

"Please what?" 

"Just please." His lips met Favor's, brushed them quickly, then pressed them open, his tongue entering and delving deeply, while his hands moved up, thumbs moving against the taut muscles at the base of Favor's neck, drawing slow, heavy circles. Favor put a hand on Rowdy's shoulder and left it there for a while, closing his eyes and letting himself be enveloped by darkness, the feeling of bare skin, warm breath mixing with his own, and the texture of the stroking tongue. Then he reopened them, his other hand gently running down the lean young body, encountering and brushing old scars in an unaccustomed leisurely exploration – the thin line of a bullet graze just under a shoulder, the slight bump of a collarbone broken in a bad fall, the ridge of a knife wound between two ribs. He knew all those scars, he could remember the way his insides had knotted in fear every time Rowdy had got hurt. For the first time, he was lucidly conscious of the way he'd always had to control what he'd felt, of the way he'd forced himself to express merely the concern of a good employer for a valued, injured trail hand. _I need him,_ he thought, the knowledge bursting inside him like a short-fused Roman candle. He drew Rowdy close, hands moving down to enter soft worn underpants. 

"Wait," Rowdy said, almost a command. His nervous fingers held Favor's arms in a bruising grip, then shifted to knead and scratch the other's waist and stomach like the paws of a cat before hurriedly pulling down and casting aside Favor's underwear and his own. "Let me," he breathed, eyes wide and alight. 

_I've never … All right._ Favor closed his eyes and lay back, legs wide apart, seeing only a pinpoint of light in the darkness pressing against his lids as long strong fingers took him, squeezed and stroked. With muffled sounds of pleasure, he thrust towards the light as the fingers moved fast and confidently, holding him almost unbearably tight, until with a long drawn-out sigh he exploded, hundreds of Roman candles going off one after the other in his brain. 

"Thanks," was all he could say once he could breathe again. 

"You're more 'n welcome." A happy grin creased the skin around Rowdy's eyes. 

"But we ain't through yet." Favor swiftly reached over and seized Rowdy in both hands, moving with leisurely determination, relishing Rowdy's quick gasps and joyful thrusts, laughing in open affection as Rowdy hungrily writhed towards completion, as his hips tensed and rose one final time before he shuddered and collapsed in happy spent silence. Then Favor lay back again, one broad hand splayed on the small thatch of hair on Rowdy's chest, feeling the furious heartbeats subside slowly. 

"So, that's one way of shuttin' you up," he drawled after a while. 

Two dimples appeared in Rowdy's cheeks and instantly vanished. "As a matter of fact, I got somethin' else to say," he replied. "I mean, I …" He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his long sweaty neck. "I care for you. That's why I don't want you and Gillian …" 

Favor looked up at the ceiling, silently asking for strength, and counted to five before answering. "Don't start that again. I know you're on her side. But like you said, you're only nine or ten years older than she is. Come mornin', you'll both see I was right." 

"Maybe," Rowdy said softly. "Guess we'll find out soon enough." 

"We will?" Favor shot him a quick searching glance. "By the way, just what were you whisperin' to her before we turned in?" 

"If you don't trust me …" Guileless blue eyes smiled into his. 

"Oh, I trust you. About as far as I can throw you," Favor drawled, keeping his face straight. 

"That's what Dr McRae called a figure of speech, ain't it?" Long fingers moved downwards, tickling damp curls and soft sticky flesh, playful rather than passionate. 

"Yeah. Just like _let sleepin' dogs lie_." Favor pushed the hand away, gave the warm muscular thigh beside his a friendly slap, moved away from the damp patch on the sheet, and rolled over. "Sleep tight." 

* * * * * * 

Favor's slowly surfacing consciousness – of not wearing chaps, boots or even underwear, of the glorious feel of bedsheets, of embarrassment mixed with utter relaxation – was shattered by hands hammering on the door and his sister-in-law's urgent shout. 

"Gil! Gil, wake up. Gillian's gone." 

Favor reached out to shake Rowdy awake, felt empty sheets, opened both eyes wide and jumped out of bed, frantically attempting to locate and slip on underwear, trousers and shirt. 

"Gone where?" he demanded, throwing the door open. 

"She's run away," Eleanor cried, too distressed to notice anything other than the presence of only one man in the guest room. "And Yates's gone too." She marched to the open window. "I knew it, I just knew it. He seduced her. They've eloped. 

"No, they _haven't_." Maggie's indignant voice rose over her aunt's. "Gillian and Rowdy have a _plan_. A _secret_ plan." 

" _What_ secret plan, Maggie?" Favor asked in the slow, deceptively gentle tone which caused the most trail-hardened drovers to quake in their boots. 

"A surprise," she whispered, white-faced but holding her ground. Her father was about to investigate further, but a sharp cry from Eleanor made both him and Maggie rush to the window. 

"What's …?" 

Clutching her throat with one hand, Eleanor pointed with the other to the two horses – Rowdy's a spirited grey gelding, Gillian's a small bay mare – which had appeared at the end of the long, tree-lined avenue. They were moving at a brisk canter which turned into a gallop just before they passed under the windows of the Bradley residence. By the time they'd gone past it, the ride had become a race: neck and neck, bodies outstretched, hooves pounding, the horses headed for the church at the other end of the avenue, scattering early risers taking their morning constitutional and adventurous dogs exploring the middle of the road. 

"Thank goodness," Eleanor breathed. "They haven't eloped after all." 

"They'll wish they had by the time I'm through with them," her brother-in-law promised between clenched teeth. "If they make it back in one piece, that is." _So that's what last night was about. To make me sleep easy,_ he added silently to himself. 

Wildly cheered on by Maggie, both horses reached the church steps at the same time, wheeled around and raced back. Blonde tresses flying, body firm in the saddle, Gillian lifted a hand in a triumphant wave towards her father's open window. Two jumps behind her, holding his mount back just a fraction, Rowdy whooped in delight. 

Suddenly a small milk cart trundled into the avenue from a side street, its teenage driver too busy rubbing sleep from his eyes to hear or see the horses until he was almost across their path. Favor bit his lower lip hard. Maggie gasped. Eleanor screamed again. Gillian, still ahead of Rowdy, without losing a beat pulled on the left rein; the mare swerved sharply, cleared the cart with half an inch to spare, whinnied loudly and streaked on ahead. Coming up behind her, Rowdy didn't stop either. Rising in the stirrups and leaning forward over the gelding's neck, he let both reins loose, urged the animal with voice and knees and jumped over the cart, turning around to check that the boy hadn't died of fright before hotly pursuing Gillian along the avenue, around the corner and out of sight. 

"You must admit, Gil, your daughter has a very good seat," Eleanor breathed out in relief after several moments' total silence. 

"Good seat? She won't be able to sit down for two days if I have anythin' to do with this. And that other bird-brained numbskull, I'll …" He stopped short, bit his lip again, turned towards his other daughter and his sister-in-law, and allowed them to see the warmth in his eyes. "But did you see how she swerved round the cart? Not a moment's fear. She was glued to the saddle, controlled that mare perfect. Perfectly." He smiled broadly, temporarily conquered by love, pride and delight. "My girl can _ride_." 

He was not smiling at all, however, when he and Eleanor, side by side, confronted the two rather disheveled equestrians as they walked through the main door. 

"Enjoy yourselves?" Favor asked, blandly conversational. 

"Yes!" Gillian's voice was firm, the nod of her head determined. Standing very straight, Rowdy just looked at him, blue eyes cool and confident. 

"You did, did you?" Favor burst out. "You could have been arrested for disturbin' the peace." He looked Rowdy over. "They have a police force here, you blockhead. You could have run over dogs and old ladies." 

"And you could have hurt that milkman," Eleanor interjected. 

"And injured the horses," Favor went on. "Not to mention breakin' your fool necks." 

"But we didn't," Gillian pointed out. "Because we're both good riders. Rowdy told me so." 

"Gillian, you go to your room and stay there until your father and I have decided what to do with you," Eleanor said, lips trembling. Then she turned to Rowdy. "Mr Yates, how _could_ you? Gillian's only a girl who doesn't know any better. You didn't know how well she could ride, you knew that things are … a little difficult between her and Gil right now, and yet you took her on this dangerous caper. Hardly fitting behavior for a guest in this house." 

"Aunt Eleanor, please stop it." Halfway up the stairs, Gillian halted abruptly and turned to face the adults. "Yes, it was Rowdy's idea. But don't you want to know _why_ he thought of it?" 

"Because he got the brains of a five-year-old, that's why," Favor scoffed angrily. 

"No." She stuck her chin out. "Because he thought that this was the only way I could prove to you that I'm still your girl." Her hands clenched on the banister. "Yes, you were right. Yesterday I was … not _ashamed_ , I was _embarrassed_ because you're so different from the fathers of my friends." She spoke quickly, passionately. "It took me all night to realize that what you are is a part of me …" A moment's pause. "We both love horses. We both go ahead and do what we think is right." A small giggle. "We're both pigheaded, as Rowdy says." A shy grin. "I promise that I'll never again be embarrassed by what you are. If you're not embarrassed by what I want to be. I love you, even if I've turned out different from what you hoped." A beat. "Differently?" 

"Whatever." Her father ran up the steps, held her in a tight embrace. "And whatever you want to be will be fine with me. You have my word." He released her and looked down at her sternly. "But you're grounded for ten days, young woman, so you'll learn not to do anythin' that stupid ever again. And so's your kid sister won't get any ideas either." A quick glance at the grinning Maggie and at the confused Eleanor. "As if we ever could … Oh, never mind." 

He looked fondly at his daughters and his sister-in-law as they went upstairs. Then he turned around to face his silent ramrod. 

"As for you," he said slowly, deliberately, "since it was your idea to start with …" 

"All right, you don't have to fire me. I'm goin'." With a shrug, Rowdy moved towards the stairs. "It was worth it anyways," he muttered mutinously. 

"Who the hell said anythin' about firin' you?" With a sigh of exasperation, Favor put out a restraining arm. "It worked, didn't it?" He paused for a moment. "For what it's worth, thanks." He took a small breath. "Just tell me somethin' straight. Was last night … a diversion strategy?" 

Rowdy's eyes narrowed instantly, his face going white under his suntan. "You believe that, I'm goin'. For good." 

After a moment, Favor shook his head. Rowdy breathed out in relief, then grinned. "I'll admit somethin', though. For honesty's sake. I wasn't all that heartbroken when I saw how sound you was sleepin'. Couldn't have explained why I was sneakin' out on you." He cleared his throat and addressed a corner of the ceiling. "When we leave here … you still want me to travel south with you to pick up the next herd and outfit?" 

Favor's mouth quirked into a smile. "Wouldn't dream of doin' all the work by myself." He allowed them a second's happy closeness, then spoke again, briskly authoritative. "But you'll be ridin' drag for the first week of the drive." He observed the change of expression on Rowdy's face with thorough enjoyment, then, foregoing the pleasure of hearing his muttered reaction, swiftly turned his back on him and headed upstairs. 

* * * * * * * 

"Head 'em up! Move 'em out!" 

The new herd was beginning to move, already trail-broken after only four days' drive, rested after the midday break, smelling the late summer breeze for the water they knew they would find beyond the last stretch of dusty plain. On both sides of it, the swing riders were moving out and forward, intercepting straying steers and driving them back to the middle. Gil Favor surveyed the progress from a small rise before trotting down to the end, where the dust raised by thousands of hooves was drifting backwards and swirling slowly against the cloudless sky. A bandana over his nose and mouth in a vain attempt to keep out dust and smells, the drag rider was pushing on stragglers. 

"Still doin' fine?" Favor asked. 

Rowdy pulled his bandana down with one finger, exposing fairly clean cheeks and mouth which sharply contrasted with his dust-caked forehead and eyebrows. 

"Just great," he grinned. "Wouldn't miss a minute of it." He cast a brief glance towards the other man's shirt pocket. "The letter you got this mornin' …" One hand loosely holding the reins, he scratched his nose with the other. "It had a Philadelphia stamp on it, didn't it?" He poked two fingers under his hat and scratched his head. "You know I'd never dream of askin' …" 

" 'Course not, you ain't the curious kind." They looked at each other for a long moment, then Favor pulled the letter out. "Sorry," he said quickly. "Should've let you see it earlier. 'Gil dear,' " he read out. " 'I never managed to tell Mr Yates that he did have Gillian's best interest at heart after all. Would you please convey my sincere apologies to him for anything I may have thought or said?' " 

Favor glanced up. Rowdy was beaming. "Apologies conveyed, Mr Yates." 

"Accepted." 

Favor continued reading. " 'Gillian has begun her final year at school. She has started to learn Latin, and getting top grades. Dr McRae wrote that she'll help her apply to the State University of Iowa after Christmas.' " 

"Watch your diphthongs," Rowdy chuckled. 

" 'Dr McRae also wrote that she had hoped to study Texan sound and speech patterns, but unfortunately her institution did not give her any funding to travel south.' " 

"Ain't that a shame," Rowdy smirked. 

" 'Gillian is keeping up with her riding lessons. And so is Maggie, who wants to learn to jump obstacles. We are all well, and hope to see you again at the end of your drive. And Mr Yates is most welcome to join you whenever you come and visit us.' " A silence. Favor looked up and saw a wide, bashful grin quickly covered by a dust-encrusted bandana. "Looks like you're part of the family," he commented, concentrating on folding and putting away the letter. " _Now_ can we get on with pushin' cattle, Mr Yates?" 

"Sure, boss." A flash of warmth in his eyes, Rowdy touched the brim of his hat in mocking salute, lightly pressed his knees to the belly of his sorrel and galloped off, chasing a wandering steer and easily bringing him back to rejoin the herd. 

Favor followed him with his eyes for a little while, shaking his head, before heading back towards the point, hardly aware that he was smiling to himself. 


End file.
